


Unfinished Drabbles and Snippets

by NikoNotHere



Series: One-Shots [3]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Relationship(s), Responsibility, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikoNotHere/pseuds/NikoNotHere
Summary: These are a collection of bits and pieces that I either never finished, took out of other fics, or just thought they were interesting but not worth being a full fic.If any of you would like further background or musings about any of these, or even if you'd like one fleshed out into a fuller fic, please comment and let me know!And if you'd like to "adopt" any of these as inspiration, you're perfectly welcome to do so! Just let me know so I don't finish them or anything.
Relationships: Christian Lorenz | Flake/Oliver Riedel, Richard Kruspe/Christian Lorenz | Flake, Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers, Richard Kruspe/Till Lindemann, Till Lindemann/Christian Lorenz | Flake
Series: One-Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126496
Comments: 39
Kudos: 46





	1. Move

**Author's Note:**

> This particular snippet came from imagining Flake barely holding it together, stuffing whatever pain and emotional hurt he had under his dry wit and attitude. I liked imagining Oliver being a big, silent, sympathetic wall that Flake needed to beat his head against and wear himself out on before he could open up.

“Move.”  
Flake grumpily tried to brush past Oli, who didn’t move as Flake had commanded him.

The ever-so-slightly shorter man plowed right into the ever-so-slightly taller one. Oli chuckled but stayed put, causing Flake to sputter in anger.

“I said move!” Flake reiterated, stepping back and crossing his arms. His eyes glinted behind his crooked glasses that he’d needed to replace months ago.

Oli did not budge from the doorway. 

“Are you deaf? Or maybe your height has pulled you out of earshot. I said move,” Flake cupped his hands around his mouth and obnoxiously repeated himself.

Something wasn’t right about Flake’s irritation. Yes, he was usually just as sassy and sarcastic, but he seemed off today. Oliver waited, and as he’d expected, Flake’s miffed, toughened exterior slowly began to fade. The angry light in his eyes dimmed, and Oli watched as the man’s lip suddenly trembled.

Flake shook his head rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.  
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Oli waited for just one more moment, knowing Flake needed more than just that admission. His patience was rewarded with a trembling sigh, and then Flake fell forward heavily against Oliver’s chest, his shoulders beginning to shake. He finally reached his arms out and held his partner tightly against himself as he cried.


	2. I Don't Know What to Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard gets saddled with an unexpected responsibility

Seeing the tiny, helpless human being laying on his couch surrounded by protective pillows was terrifying. What if it rolled over? Would it suffocate? Could it squirm enough to move the pillows and fall? Did he have enough food for when it woke up? Could he tell the difference between cries when it woke up?

Richard had called emergency services immediately, as he didn't dare move the small thing much less try to put it in his car, but the operator had said all of their police and first responders were busy between a huge car pile up and a warehouse that had caught fire. After asking if he were able to watch the baby for the night, the operator assured him she would put out a notice to all personnel and call him back if they received any missing persons alerts.

After hanging up, Richard had quickly ordered about 10 containers worth of formula and several bottles for the baby, delivered to his door within the hour. He had mixed some bottles in preparation, all while never daring to take his eyes off the baby for more than a split second. It was so small… how could something so small even be alive, much less a real human being?

He'd seen babies before, of course, from a distance. But they were all just sort of objects to him, with no personality or autonomy, and none had ever been *this* small. Having one here, as his sole responsibility, was completely different. And it was downright terrifying, if he were being honest.

Richard swallowed nervously as he scooted back over to the couch and knelt down. It was still sleeping, and had been since he nearly tripped over it in the hallway of his flat. After having what he could only figure was close to an anxiety attack, he'd laid the baby carefully on the couch and built a wall of pillows beside it, so it wouldn't fall. He thought about laying it on the floor, but didn't know if it was too hard for the baby's head.

God, there was so much he didn't know, he lamented as he stared at the sleeping baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a random thought for an AU where Richard hadn't had any children by midlife, and hadn't been around them much either.


	3. Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard knows when "no" means "yes"

“Don’t,” Flake breathed, but Richard could clearly see he didn’t mean it. The poor thing was just nervous, he knew. Just to be sure, he paused with his hands gently holding the other man’s hip bones. Flake subtly touched Richard’s fingers, nudging them ever so slightly.

Richard took the hint, and slid his hands across from Flake’s prominent hip bones to his base, encircling it as he glanced back up. Flake’s brow furrowed, and his chest tightened as he watched the dark-haired man’s face draw up to his length. Richard breathed down it first-- worshipfully, tenderly. It made Flake’s head spin to watch. Why did this feel so perfect?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flake has always struck me as hesitant when he's in love. He's perfectly happy to fuck a one night stand and be done with it right afterward, but when it comes to romance and real feelings, he either doubts the sincerity of it, or questions himself into crippling doubt and insecurity.


	4. Alternate Penance Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was my original idea for the fic "Penance." I obviously decided to go in a very different direction with the fic, and I've removed some bits from this that I actually did use, so as to avoid spoilers for that story (which I promise I'll be finishing soon). Those bits I noted with (removed) in their places.

He reached for the jackhammer, and the screech it made across the concrete made him wince. Most noises grated against him these days. His girlfriend constantly nagged him to see a specialist, but he brushed it aside. He dealt with the antagonistic sounds as he did all other troubles in his life: with a welcoming, but still bitter smile. 

Penance, self-condemnation, masochism, whatever you wanted to call it, he embodied it all and then some. Not a single day dragged by that he didn't feel every last tearing pang of regret and guilt, just as much as the day he'd done it.

He still saw the blood, the tears; the disoriented, begging from his friend-- his FRIEND, someone who'd been as close, if not closer than a brother to him-- (removed).

Considering he'd never been pursued by the police, he assumed one of two things had happened: he had either been very, very lucky with his name change and slipped beneath the German police's radar during his panicked flight from the country, or--the more likely scenario-- his friend had either remained silent after freeing himself, or his friends had found him (removed) and kept it to themselves. He figured the latter was almost certainly the case.

He shook his head as a stinging pierced his eyes. He couldn't decide if it were more from sweat or tears that were threatening his vision. It had been two years. Surely there was an end to the constant grief over his destroyed friendships, and the guilt over his role in their ends. But it seemed each day brought with it a refreshed supply of melancholy, self-loathing, and longing. 

He made a choked grunt in the back of his throat. Longing had been the majority of the fucking problem, hadn't it? His longing to be at the forefront, a longing to feel closer to the people he loved, and at that last straw, (removed).

Well, at least the last part he'd seen to completion. (removed)

He also wished the drug cocktail he'd used for himself had been so mind-clouding that he forgot the event even happened.

But of course not. His memories of the event were razor sharp and clear as fucking crystal. He remembered things right down to (removed) 

His conscience had certainly made up for that night's lapse in the years since. After moving to a random, remote farm town in the American midwest, he'd settled--if he could call his constant mental anguish settling--into a routine of handyman work, manual labor, and various odd jobs which were consistently in demand in a town this size. Though he knew the names of many people in the surrounding area, he'd made a very specific point of never getting too close. He'd failed that point with Ashley, though; somehow they'd ended up dating. 

He was a miserable boyfriend. He never called, never made plans with her, never went out of his way for her, and definitely hadn't slept with her, offering some half-hearted bullshit about trauma in his past that she'd swallowed hook, line, and sinker. 

The truth was he couldn't stand to be touched by anyone anymore. Any contact would throw him right back to that night, where touch was the only thing on his mind: rough, painful, agonizing, animalistic touch--the kind of touch that left scars, mental and physical. 

At the thought of his former friend's likely life-long scars, left by his scratching fingers and biting teeth, he shuddered. What the fuck had possessed him that night?

He shook his head and reviewed his work. He'd drilled an acceptable amount of concrete from the city walkway, he decided. He returned the equipment and waited for the bus home.

After boarding, he settled into his usual spot and laid his head against the window. As the streets dragged by, his nightly routine of allowing his memory to roll back the years and torment him took over.


	5. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a small thing inspired by this gif that didn't make it to a full fic (yet):  
> https://giphy.com/gifs/cA1xbjE4tWwrDm8dkJ

Till reached over to him and aggressively rubbed his bare, sweaty chest as he threw his hips up to meet Richard's. And Richard, who had been slightly crouched at his microphone, didn't draw away as expected or straighten his body to separate himself from Till's overly-sexual move onstage. 

Instead, Richard turned and looked at Till. If anything, he pressed himself further back into his grasp, while Till gripped Richard's bicep after finishing his rough caress.

Till's heart nearly stopped from how full of burning lust Richard's eyes were. He barely managed to remember the next lines of the song before he was supposed to continue singing. He forced himself to calm down, at least finishing the concert. He had to at least make it that far.


	6. Please?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea for where this was supposed to go, then suddenly decided I didn't like it. I may repurpose it later. Fill in with whomever you'd like ;)

"Please?"

It was closer to begging than an actual request for consent. I nodded, smiling warmly at him, inviting him closer with my eyes. 

He crawled forward as I laid back, his eyes remaining locked to mine, as if he were afraid I'd revoke my "yes" at any moment. He leaned down, tentatively, and lightly set his body atop me. With a heavy breath, he reached forward and kissed me again, his tongue joining in his enthusiastic kisses. I returned the kiss just as eagerly, rolling my hips up to meet his that were still resting just above mine.

A small, pleased sound left his nose in a rush as our bodies touched intimately. I felt a stutter in the kiss, and then a deepening of it as he allowed himself to rub rhythmically against me.


	7. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a cute thought I had of Flake being sweet toward someone. This might actually have been a dream I had; I can't remember, unfortunately. Might slip this in somewhere because it's too cute.

"Don't act stupidly," Flake admonished, brushing hair out of my eyes. "You're not stupid. Acting like it doesn't suit you."

I grunted and rolled my eyes. Flake pushed a finger against my forehead, an action I recognized as his attempt at smoothing out the wrinkles across it. It was a cute gesture, albeit annoying at the same time.


	8. Untitled Paul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had plans for this to be part of something else, then abandoned the work unfortunately. Just smut.

His grinding was becoming too much. The friction, the pleasure-- hot and knifing up into Paul's stomach, throbbing and pulsing under him with only a towel separating their most intimate parts. He thought he'd been close before; this was another level entirely.

His back arched and he was forced to push the other's hips away with a pained groan, panting open-mouthed from the arousal. He smirked at Paul, satisfied that he'd punished him thoroughly for touching himself without permission.

Paul's hand gripped the other man's thigh, pulling him back after a moment of composing himself. Paul's other hand snaked up his back and to his shoulder, clinging tightly. His faced pressed into Paul's neck, with his breathing coming in strong gasps as his tongue caught the intermittent taste of salty sweat along Paul's neck up to his ear.


	9. Rosenrot Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a cute comforting fic for Richard during the Rosenrot shoot, but I couldn't get up the interest to finish it.

Richard's head swam, and every last inch of his back was on fire. While drinking had given him the liquid courage to do the flogging, it hadn't dulled his senses enough to fully take away the pain. At the halfway point of the Rosenrot video shoot, he'd taken to screaming outright in order to keep his hand swinging. It was only barely working.


	10. T-shirts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had in mind the Paulchard shirt for this one, of course, but couldn't figure out how to make it into a reasonable fic xD

Paul stared in horror at his phone screen. Richard walked over and plopped onto the edge of the bed beside him, towel around his waist. He was curious at Paul's unusual silence and craned his neck to see the phone. Paul had pulled up the Rammstein online store

"They made a shirt of us."

Richard snorted at that. He was apparently significantly less concerned about it than Paul was.  
"It was bound to happen sooner or later," he shrugged indifferently. "That's what we get for proposing the kissing for the show."

"They didn't even ask about it!"

"When do they ever? They made drain plugs too, and that's just as ridiculous as a shirt of us kissing."

Paul suddenly stood to his feet, almost knocking Richard off the bed as he asked in a frenzy, "What if that makes people think we actually *are* a couple? What if they start trying to pry in our personal lives even more?"

Richard rolled his eyes and said, "If you think that doesn't happen now, I have some fun things for you to read."


	11. Pussy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Till bothers Flake

"Flake, what's your favorite song?"

I barely heard the question in the first place, much less had an answer for Till. I glanced up from my book, my face still a bit scrunched in concentration.  
"What?"

Till looked bored, flipping through a stack of magazines on the hotel room desk. I assumed the magazines were Schneider's, as they mostly seemed drum-related.   
"Favorite song," he repeated.

"In general or within a specific category?"

"Rammstein song."

"Oh," I said in relief, going back to my book and readjusting on the chair, "that's easy. Pussy." 

I was glad I didn't need to sit and debate for an hour what my favorite song *ever* was

"Why?"

I looked up again with mild irritation evident in my glare and said, "Why what?"

"Why is it your favorite?" Till clarified, still not bothering to look up.

"I don't know. Maybe because it feels more poppy and the keyboard part is interesting. That and the lyrics are wonderfully dirty in contrast to the happy sound of the music. I love filthy things contrasting with pretty things. May I finish my book now?"

Till turned to me with a sudden look that made me want to massage my temples. I really needed to learn to phrase things less… enticingly for him.

"You love filthy things, ah?"

The sharp glint in his eyes made my stomach roll pleasantly. 

I wouldn't be finishing my book, I thought with annoyance barely veiling my reciprocated interest.


End file.
